


Gurfa

by Tiberius_Tibia



Series: Lost in Translation [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Brooklyn, Brooklyn Boys, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bullying, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Steve Rogers, M/M, Male Friendship, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiberius_Tibia/pseuds/Tiberius_Tibia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gurfa (source unknown): the amount of water that can be held in one hand</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gurfa

Prospect Park, Brooklyn- 1932

Steve was so mad he didn’t even hurt. His knees were skinned, both pant-legs shredded all the way down his shins. One elbow had been slammed into the brick wall of the playground and the other arm had been twisted so hard that the muscles now felt loose and slack. His face was wet with blood, sweat, snot and bitter, humiliated tears. For the first time in his life he was about to win a fight. Bobby Hollister was mean as rusty nails, but he was small. Nearly as small as Steve, with short legs, wiry arms and a narrow body. They were at least in the same weight class. But Bobby had other things going for him- a straight back, uncanny wiry strength in his thin arms, lungs that pulled in as much air as he could possibly need for something as simple as a playground fight.

Bobby had baited him in exactly the right way- not that there was a wrong was to provoke Steve Rogers into a fight. Every kid on the block l knew Steve wouldn’t back down once he got riled, and the few boys he’d managed to become friendly with had drifted off or dropped him outright after getting bored waiting for him to keep up when they walked or being swept up in one too many of his brawls. No one wanted a pal who kept getting them punched and couldn’t get round a baseball diamond without having to stop for breath. So Steve spent most of his time feeling loneliest when all his classmates were around, and happiest when he was on his own or with his ma.

Today had been going alright though. He’d held his own against Bobby for fifteen solid minutes of undignified, unsportsmanlike smacking and kicking and biting. Then Bobby’s brothers had shown up. He might have been able to take Bobby. True, his back was starting to spasm something awful, but he’d gotten in a few real hits and could’ve maybe landed some more. He could have made Bobby at least look like he’d been in a fight, not just a pathetic smackdown. But no way could he fight all three of them. Worst thing was, Bobby was the oldest. He and Mickey were Irish twins, and Nate was two years younger. They were all a pack of dirty fighters. Steve found himself being tackled on all sides by vicious sets of fists, like those nasty little South American fish he’d read about. All anyone watching saw was some dumb, weak kid getting the stuffing kicked out of him by a couple of boys even smaller than him. 

There was a small crowd of kids watching them, laughing as the three brothers started leapt around him, spouting lines and mimicking the Three Stooges as they whaled on him. They were a blur in Steve’s shaky vision. Finally, he slammed the nearest one in the face. There was a wet crunch. Nate howled and dropped back, clutching his bloody nose in both hands. Instantly, the others stopped and Steve, shaken, stepped forward offering his handkerchief to the younger boy. Nate slapped his hand away angrily, “Yer ma’s a dirty lunger, Rogers!”

Steve was still trying to placate the boy when Nate gathered up a handful of mud and sent it flying at Steve’s head. It caught him on the cheek, splattering into his hair and down onto his shirt. The laughter swelled. Mickey and Bobby seized him by the arms and held him while Nate seized more mud to fling at him. It got in his eyes, his mouth, down the neck of his shirt. Steve struggled but the other boys held him tight.

“Hey watch the aim!” laughed Mickey when a clump of mud and grass hit Steve on the shoulder and flecks sprayed over on his captor, “You throw like a girl, squirt.”

“Do not!” yelled Nate, continuing to pelt Steve.

Behind him, someone grabbed the two older Hollisters by the hair and banged their heads together. Their skulls made a satisfying thwack and they let go of Steve. He turned and took a step back. He knew his savior by sight, but hadn't ever paid much attention to him. The boy had dark hair, light eyes, a slightly cleft chin with a bit of baby fat still visible in his cheeks and jaw. He still held a handful of towheaded Hollister hair in each fist. He was the keenest looking thing Steve had ever laid eyes on. Nate had stopped flinging mud and was staring at the new arrival too.

“Take a hike, Barnes. Take your hands off my brothers if you know what’s good for you.”

“Take ‘em home if you know what’s good for all of you,” the boy replied, “And if ya throw any more mud I’m gonna feed you some before we’re through.”

Nate dove at Barnes who thrust the two older boys in front of him. The three Hollisters went down in a heap as Bucky stepped deftly out of the way. He kicked each in the pants as he passed him, for good measure. The crowd slowly began to trickle off. Steve gathered up his fallen belongings and started to slip off into the crowd. He made it half a block when there was the sound of running feet coming up behind him.

“Hey wait!”

Steve turned, half expecting round two, only to see the Barnes boy trotting towards him.

“Here, ain’t this are yours?” he said thrusting a grimy, wrinkled wad of cloth at Steve.

Steve was flummoxed, Barnes was well known in their neighborhood, popular and smart and an excellent ball player. He’d spoken to Steve before in passing, but he had no reason to be speaking to him now. “Oh, yeah. Its just a hanky, but thanks.”

Barnes looked slightly embarrassed. “Don’t want you to get in trouble for losing it. Maybe just rinse it and lay it out in the sun for a bit and it’ll be okay.”

Gingerly, Steve accepted the proffered drawings. “I guess so, that’s good thinking Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky. Its James Buchanan Barnes, but only teachers call me that.”

“Thanks Bucky,” Steve said, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah, I know. You get in all the fights.”

“I coulda handled myself back there, you know.”

“Sure, I know. I saw you get Bobby right in the nads. And you bit him on the ear. You’re the best kind of crazy, ya know that?”

Steve blushed and stared at his shoes, then he caught himself and tried to stand as straight as he could. They studied each other awkwardly for a moment. Then Bucky grinned, “You look a real mess, Steve Rogers.”

“Aw, hell. My ma’s gonna have a fit when she sees me.”

“Think you’ll get a hiding?”

“Nah,” said Steve, “She’s not like that. But she gets real quiet whenever I’ve been fighting.”

“Alright, let’s see how much damage we can undo before your ma sees.” He took Steve by his cleanest elbow and led him off into the park. They crouched together in front of the Bailey Fountain. Bucky leaned over, ignoring the signs to stay off it and scooped up a double handful of cold water. Without warning he splashed it on Steve’s face and Steve spluttered, surprised.

“Geez, Buck. Give a guy some warning. I already got baptized you know.”

“Yer a punk, Rogers,” Bucky laughed scooping up another handful and rubbing it into Steve’s forehead. He rinsed Steve’s hankie out in the fountain, wrung it out and laid it out flat on the warm concrete of the fountain’s edge.

“Yer a jerk,” Steve laughed back. He tilted his head up to the sky and let Bucky tip the next handful of water through his hair.

***************  
Prospect Park- 2015

A gray figure huddled against the wall of the fountain. His hair gave off the coppery scent of hair that hadn't been washed in too long. His body gave off the unpleasant, sickly sweet smell of body odor. There were faint lines of dirt caked in the creases of his face and under the nails of one hand. The other hand he kept tucked up inside his sleeve. The gray figure didn’t look up as a man approached him, not until he dropped down to sit by his side.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said softly, “I’ve been looking for you all over Brooklyn.”

“I remember that guy,” he answered without looking at Steve.

“Which guy?”

Bucky pointed his human hand toward the center of the fountain. “Him,” his tone was clipped, almost angry, “Neptune, right? Sea god? Someone told me about him, he’s in a lot of paintings and stuff…” Bucky was silent for a while, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he spoke again. “You told me that. You’re Steve Rogers, you like art. We used to come here when we were kids.”

Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “That’s right. This is where we had our first real conversation.”

Bucky rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, making himself even dirtier looking than before. “I know things but I don’t know them! I don’t know how I know them! Things keep coming back but I don’t know what they mean, I don’t even remember what I’m supposed to look like.”

“Aw, Buck,” Steve sighed, “Come here a sec.” He took Bucky carefully by the shoulders and turned him to face the fountain. Together they leaned slightly over towards the shifting water. Steve took a handful of the clear water and held it out to Bucky. “Go on,” he said, “Its ok.”

They cleaned as much of the grime off Bucky’s face as possible. Underneath it he still had on a good deal of eye-black, now badly smudged. He washed that off too, and gently wet Bucky’s hair just enough to slick it back out of his face.

“See that, Buck? That’s you. You’ve seen yourself in this exact same place every day during the summer when we were kids.”

Bucky stared uncertainly at the reflection below him. “There’s money down there,” he commented.

Steve let out a startled laugh, “Yeah, back then nobody had any spare change to toss away. But we always checked, just in case.”

Bucky stared down at their images, rippling and intangible, below them. He took Steve’s hand and rose shakily to his feet. “Can we go,” he paused, “home?”

“Yeah, Buck. We can go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lunger- 1930s slang, a person with tuberculosis


End file.
